Sekirei: American Style
by chuckiboo
Summary: An unknown Sekirei resides in the United States, searching for her master. And finds it in a young Cajun man who has returned home to the Bayou State. Feeling he is alone, he is in fact, not. The story of No. 109, Omaha, and her master, living in post-Katrina New Orleans. And an appearance by the Disciplinary Squad. How will it go? Read to find out. OCs are mine.
1. Chapter 1

**_For those waiting on my continuation of the Freezing saga sequel, here's something new from the world of Sekirei. -CK_**

 _Sekirei ©Gokurakin Sakurako_

Something strange is happening in Shintou. All across the capital, secret battles are taking place to determine who will be the one to bring about resoration. Spearheaded by the international conglomerate MBI, Hiroto Minaka set out on fulfilling this vision through a 'game'. With 108 beings in the form of humans known as Sekirei, they and their partners called ashikabi, are pulled into this twisted cycle of perverted frovolity. Yet, halfway around the world, a different, yet similar thing is happening, strangely, in the United States.

Hurricane Katrina is the worst natural disaster to hit the southeastern United States in over a hundred years, especially in the state of Louisiana. Hundreds of lives were lost, acres upon acres of property destroyed, and millions of dollars spent to clean up the hideous, infested, carcass-laden mess. Daryl Wilton seen it all happen, having lost most of his relatives in the resulting overflow of Lake Pontchartrain, who refused to leave the area. Being the only full-blooded Cajun in the family, his French creole heritage showed in his speech and dialect.

Since inheriting over $10 million from his aunt who lived in New Orleans, but died during the floods, Daryl set out on his own to rebuild his family's legacy. His family house was one of the fortunate houses in the area to survive the devestating hurricane and its fury. His aunt Bernice had lots of money, ironically won from Publishers Clearing House, yet rarely spent any of it. With the exception of setting aside a college fund for her only nephew. Though the majority of her possessions were lost, all that was left was a one hundred year old shotgun house less than a mile from the downtown area and the French Quarter. Coming back home at 17 and graduating high school in his hometown, is all he wanted. With no one to come see him walk down the aisle, he felt as if he's destined to live his life alone. He couldn't be further from the truth.

From the rooftops of the buildings in the French Quarter, a large, dark figure moves with stealth, looking, listening, feeling, for what, or who, it is looking for.

* * *

The Saturday after his high school graduation, Daryl cleaned around the house. In the past two years, he had his family house completely done over, with a two story addition on the extra plot of land on its east side. It looked very little like the old rustic shotgun house he grew up in for years before he moved from the city in 2000 when he was still a child. In 2004, he moved in with his aunt after his mother and father were killed by a drunk driver. When Katrina hit the state, he tried to get his family to evacuate, but they refused, and paid the ultimate price. Thankfully, Bernice gave him her most important documents, including her will. And in it, all her possessions and money was willed to him, of all people. Even though he collected when he turned 18, he had a lot of work to do to get the homestead back in shape. Now, at 20, his dream is finally coming true.

This day, in the evening, Daryl decided to treat himself to dinner at a restaurant in the newly revived French Quarter district. He hadn't a car yet, but he was working on it. The downtown section has come a long way since that fateful day in 2005, and by the sound of the lively jazz music, nary a worry was seen, as the strings of lights glowed like those on a Mississippi river boat. Bourbon Street was always like this at any time of the year. Though the majority of the residents did return to rebuild, there were not many full blooded Cajuns like him around. The sights and sounds made him want to say one thing.

" _Laissez les bons temps rouler_ ," saying to himself as he was greeted by one of co-owners of the restaurant.

"Glad to see you again, Daryl," the man said as he showed the young man his table.

"Yeah, I wish aunt Bernice could've been here to see me graduate," saying as he sat down.

"Yeah," the man said, "we all do. Congradualtions again on graduating, you're the first in your family to do it so far."

He nodded. "Now that I got the house right, I'm pretty much here to stay."

"Hey, if you need anyone to help you with things, just let me know."

He nodded, as he placed his order for seafood gumbo, an order of boudin, and some beignets. For a guy his size, at 5' 6" and only 140 pounds, that's a lot of food. Yet the extent of his appetite exudes that of his physical attributes. Saying grace and digging into the big bowl of gumbo, he wondered what's in store for him. He's taking a year off so he can handle the family's business, then attending Southern University in Baton Rogue next fall.

Unfortunately, the French Quarter was also known for its attraction of drunkards from nearby parishes, who drink a lot, and want to stir up trouble. And as Daryl was taking in his spoonful of gumbo, he could hear the commotion outside with one of the drunkards. The guy who served him passed by as he asked.

"Is that still happening?" in his Cajun accent.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he said in grief. "The police can't do much, due to the changing of the laws after Katrina. They let 'em do as they please, as long as they don't hurt anyone."

"Has it happened?"

"Once, but that was it." And just when he said it, a man barged in, pushing the server aside, in a drunken rage, reeking of whiskey and beer.

"Hey," he yelled, his words slurred, "get outta here, this is my place!"

Daryl was hoping he didn't come near him; he just wanted to finish his food. That was not to be, as he knocked down the co-owner, and he helped him up.

"Get outta here!" yelling again as he pushed Daryl to the floor, knocking over his plate of boudin and beignets. Then, the man became violent as he started to kick the young man while on the floor. "How many times I gotta tell you, this is my place!" Daryl did what he could to protect himself, his friend unable to help him. If something didn't happen soon...

"Hey!" called a voice from the door, sounding like an Asian female, "why are you tearing up a peaceful establishment like this?" The drunkard turned around to see a tall, mocha-colored woman standing there. Though Daryl couldn't see due to his blurry sight from being kicked in his face, she walked up to the crazed man as he drooled at the sight of her. Full of strong drink, he thought he could score.

"And why are you kicking that young man?" He could only just stand there, mouth wide open. The woman then took him by the collar and lifted him off his feet, as they were face to face. "This is the eighth time you did this in three months," she growled, "if you don't get rehab soon, I'LL give it to you!"

She then walked to the door, and threw the guy out, landing on his face! Cleansing her hands, she walked over to the two men and helped them up. Looking at Daryl's injuries, it upset her as she rubbed his cheek.

"You alright, sugar?" asking in a southern-tinged Asian accent.

"I-I'll be alright," he replied, "thank you."

Suddenly, she felt something hit her senses as her caramel complexion slightly turned red. "Oh no," she whispered, "is he...the _one?"_

Once Daryl had his face clear of the blood and sweat, what his eyes caught hold of made him blush just as much. A mocha-skinned woman, couldn't be much older than him, with long, dark hair cascading her back. Her features were that of Asian descent, yet her accent was mixed. Her body was that of a heavyweight female bodybuilder, with ripped arms, straited legs and nicely sized breasts. But her outfit took the cake. A dress, with splits on each side up to the hips, tapering at the bottom, with a lined oval opening at the chest to display some major cleavage. Also, wrist cuffs covering her meaty forearms, as well as thigh-high spiked boots topped off an amazing package. Daryl immediately began feeling unusual things as she gave a glowing smile, holding out her hand and helping her up.

"Th-th-thank you, again," he stammered as her blushing increased.

"You're welcome, sugar," she replied as he dusted himself off.

"I-I'm Daryl," he said in turn. Suddenly, that feeling returned to her, and she knew what she had to do.

"I-I...must go," as she quickly turned heel and rushed out the door. The young man and the older man stood there for a minute, as Daryl turned to him.

"You seen her before?"

"Yes, she's been present in certain places, I heard, helping to keep the city safe. Can't tell if she's a vigilante or not." He rubbed the gray whiskers on his chin. "Come to think of it, she first appeared two years after the hurricane hit and flooded the city and the surrounding parishes. She helped out to an extent, then disappeared after that. She just recently resurfaced."

"You know her name?"

"Nope, we tried to ask, but she got gone before we could say anything." They started picking up the spilled food off the floor. "Sorry that had to happen, you paid for a good meal, and almost got a beatdown. I'll have 'em do you some more boudin and beignets, okay?"

The boy smiled. "Just make it to go."

* * *

A few days went by since that incident, and though he's been back, he hasn't encountered that mocha amazon as of late. In the evening, he'd gaze up to the sky from his wraparound porch, and wondered who she was. Thinking he heard something, he jerked his head around, and eyed his surroundings. _Why do I have the feeling I'm being watched?_ he thought as he turned to go inside. Just then, a voice called out to him.

"D-D-Daryl," the voice said, as he did another 180, to see...that dark-skinned amazon! He immediately blushed heavily at the sight of her, as she slowly stepped up the walkway. "I-I'm sorry I ran off," she stammered, "it's just that...I was scared." Her Asian-laden southern accent was something to marvel at. "When I felt your honesty, and your feelings, I...kinda knew...that you are... _the one_."

"The one what?" he asked quizzically.

"The one I am to protect and serve. I"ve been noticing you since you came to New Orleans, and started building on this house you live in."

There was one question he needed an answer to. "Who are you?"

She looked up at him with a slight smile. "I am No. 109, Omaha. I'm the last of a breed of special beings known as Sekirei."

His eyes grew big at hearing that name, as he recalled a friend of his who lived in Japan, in the capital of Chiba Perfecture, Shintou. He wrote to him that he'd became involved in a game known as the 'Sekirei Plan', and it was being played out in the city. He himself had one, No. 71, Ai, who was a combat type. Luckily, he and Ai escaped the capital, and are living in the countryside. Omaha brought him back.

"Daryl," she said, "I believe you are to be my master."

"How do you know?"

"When we feel our fated one is near, our bodies have sensations, similar to feelings for another. Since that meeting at the resturant, I've been feeling like that nonstop. I can tell now, that you are to be my master."

Daryl was pretty tense about talking to a stranger, yet this stranger saved him from being beaten by a drunkard. So, his southern hospitality automatically kicked in.

"Well," he spoke up, "you wanna come in _'sha?_ " The chocolate-skinned amazon smiled wide as she stepped onto the porch and walked in behind him.

Omaha was in awe of the house he lived in. Rich, sweet woods, beautiful furniture, antiques galore. And the young man who owned all this became that more attractive to her. Soon, her feelings stirred up stronger than before, as her face flushed heavily. _Not now,_ she thought as she wrapped her muscular arms around herself to regain her composure, but it did little good. The sense was overwhelming her.

"Have yourself a seat," he said as he headed to the kitchen, "what'd you like to drink?"

"Uh, water, please," she said, her voice shaky. She knew the time came for it to happen. As Daryl returned, his eyes were big as she rushed at him, knocking him to the hardwood floor and spilling the drinks. On top of him was a flushed, heavily breathing chocolate muscle girl, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Please, Daryl," saying between hard breaths, "make me, yours," moving her face toward his. As much as he tried to move, the unreal density of her muscular body prevented him.

"O-Omaha," he pleaded, "w-what are...you trying to do...?"

"I...can't help it..." as she cupped his face in her soft hands, "I need...you..." her lips meeting his in a kiss that rocked his senses. Being his first kiss, he closed his eyes, taking it all in, as she broke the lock. Rearing her head back, something appeared behind her as it shot out from her back, looking like wings. The glow dissipated, as she returned to normal. She gazed down at the boy, and smiled.

"I am now yours, Daryl," she said chipperly. He just stared.

"Wh-what...was that?"

"I've been winged," she said, "in Japanese, you are an _ashikabi,_ you control me. All that I do, is for you. With my powers, I will fight for you, protect you, keep you safe from any and all harm. For as long as you will have me."

For a moment, his mind went back to his friend, and realize what just happened to him. She moved as to let him get up, looking at the mess they made.

"Well," he said reluctantly, "at least I'm not alone anymore."

Omaha looked at him quizzically. "You live here alone? Where is your family?"

Daryl sighed. "My parents were killed in a firey car crash five years ago, the rest during Hurricane Katrina in '05. To my knowledge, I'm the only survivor. New Orleans is my birthplace, and I came back and rebuilt after I came of age to receive my inheritance. This is our family house we're in. I just improved on it."

Omaha's expression softened as she placed her hands on his shoulders. "You're not alone anymore," she said. "You have me. I'm your Sekirei."

"And I do my best to be the best master you'll ever have," smiling, as they sat down on the sofa and started talking. For this to happen to him is beyond his wildest imaginations.

* * *

In the days following her winging, Omaha has since moved in with her now ashikabi, Daryl Wilton. Having no steady place to stay since her importation and release five years ago (only by performing deeds and receiving food and lodging as payment), she slowly became used to him and his ways. Sitting down and talking was how they got to know each other, and eventually, growing to resepct each other as well. In one of their many conversations, he learned a lot about her kind, and especially her, in particular.

From what she was told by her adjuster, the late Takehito Asama, she is actually a combination of two eggs that were deformed, and really had no use to MBI CEO, Hiroto Minaka. Yet, Asama took the initiative to develop her into what she is now. She turned out completely different from the other 108, having a greater size and more strength than any other Sekirei. Whereas the others were released into the capital, she was kept back for a reason. Minaka had an idea that was so far fetched, it was short of being called abandonment. Contacting one of his investors in the United States, Omaha was placed on a private jet and flown from Japan to the North American state of Louisiana where she would live her life.

Omaha continued. "From that processing center in Mississippi, I was sent here to help restore order after that disastrous hurricane. I was told before I left, that I would find my ashikabi as well, as I was no different from any other Sekirei back in Japan."

"Well, what's your special power?" Daryl asked.

"I'm a dual type Sekirei, vast intelligence and a strong combat type. With my mind, I can access anything with electronics, and control it. But it's my Norito that makes me who I am."

"Norito?"

She nodded. "It's our special ability when all options are used up. It's activated by a kiss." She blushed.

"With me, it's my Bear Meteor, a powerful punch that only I and another Sekirei possesses. It's, can I say, earth-shattering." Daryl's eyes grew big at that statement. "But my intended goal is to protect you from anything and anyone who dares to misuse you or hurt you. For as long as you'll have me, I'll be with you."

He was at a loss for words, hearing that. Omaha blushed even more. "I mean...if you'll have me-"

"Y-y-yeah!..." he stammered, waving his hands around, "I-I mean, you...can stay here, for as...long as you want...is what I mean to say..."

The mocha Asian amazon smiled. "Thank you Daryl!" as she smothered him with her muscular body, beefy arms wrapped around his neck. The shock of her action stunned the young Cajun, yet he gave in and wrapped his small arms around her. She let him go, and face to face, her mocha complexion looked like she had cherries in her cheeks. Daryl was curious.

"What's wrong, Omaha?" he asked with concern in his Cajun accent. Her smile wavered as her thoughts came out of her mouth.

"I think...I love you..."

His eyes were wide as saucers at hearing the confession, made by a woman who he just met a few weeks ago, and had only recently moved in with him. "A-A-Are you...sure, _mon cherie'?_ "

She nodded. "You don't know what I went through the past six years since arriving here. The negativity, fighting, talking..." She shook her head as tears formed in the wells of her eyes. "It's like...these people don't know nothing about love...it's every person for themselves...I don't understand..."

He rubbed her ripped back trying to calm her down. "That's the way things are, here though 'sha," he said, "people are raised in different ways. After the hurricane hit here seven years ago, the local and state governments didn't do a thing about it, and it became every person for themselves."

Omaha lifted her head, her red, watery eyes gazing into his light browns. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't until the President stepped in and gave help, and later, they placed all the blame for the lack of response on him. Now, though it's back to normal, people still harbor those feelings, and are turning to various means to get what they want."

She gazed downward, as she suddenly felt his fingers running through her dark hair. "I was always taught to want the best for people. And I want the best for you, _mõn a meí."_

The ebony Asian slightly smiled at the statement, as her cheeks grew red. "I'm sure of it now," she said, "I... _do_ love you. Because of your heart, and determination. And if it goes as far as becoming your wife, I'll happily do it."

She laid her head on his chest, as Daryl rearranged himself to lay across the couch. Stroking her thick black hair, it soothed her just as a kitten would be. On her face was a smile of peace and contentment, something she hasn't felt since leaving Japan six years ago. In her mind, eyes and heart, Omaha has found her one and only; ashikabi, man, and possibly, husband. And she will go through hell and high water to protect him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sekirei ©Gokurakin Sakurako_

To say that Daryl and Omaha were made for each other is an understatement. Each is the one the other has been waiting for, his yin to her yang. And the residents of New Orleans can tell, by the way they stand out. Out walking, Omaha only has Daryl by a couple inches in height, but it's her light mocha complexion, strong Asian features and muscular build that turns people's heads as they pass through neighborhoods. Though he hasn't bought a car yet, walking is the best way they can get around. And the men in the nearby parishes, docile by day, drunkards at night, have learned to steer clear of her. With her photographic memory, she remembers their faces, and can easily track them down if they cause trouble again.

And as for groceries, no problem. With the purchase of three extra large fabric bags, the two can go shopping, and Omaha can haul all of it back home with ease, with Daryl carrying the eggs and milk, of course. Having learned to fix other dishes to lessen their dependence on eating out so much, such as curry and miso soup, it adds to his variety of styles in cooking. And occasionally, he'd get the urge to make some gumbo, jambalaya, or even etouffee, which his Sekirei eagerly eats up with ease.

Their conversation never gets boring, as they are always talking about something new every week. The more they talk, the more they know about each other, and surprisingly, the more Daryl finds to fall in love with about Omaha. In her eyes, she can sense that her feelings were getting through to him, and that he felt the same way. It sent shivers down her spine, knowing that she will be with him forever, protecting and loving him with all she is and has. Yet, it is his genuine Cajun accent she can't get enough of; the fluency of French mixed with his Southern dialect makes her crazy for him. She is hoping she can live a peaceful life with him, but as life is, things are subject to change.

* * *

About an hour or so drive across the state border in Jackson, Mississippi, MBI has a U.S. processing center for its technology, which had helped the residents of the Gulf Coast survive through the disaster that was Hurricane Katrina. While FEMA was handling certain problems, the center was secretly importing food, fresh water and supplies from its headquarters in Shintou, Chiba Prefecture, Japan for the survivors. Equipped with three warehouses and a landing strip, the center has been a hub for relief during the natural disaster. And this is where No.109 Omaha, was processed and released, eventually sent to New Orleans to help with the relief efforts and restoring of order a few years ago.

The head of the center, Kato Kumo, has seen a lot happen since his stay here in the states. Transferred by Hiroto Minaka himself, he's made quite a name for himself in these parts. He also knows full well what's happening in Shintou, how things were coming to a head, keeping updated via satellite. Just as he thought it, he noticed something strange on the radar. It was a private jet coming in for a landing. Seeing the MBI logo, he had no fear of invasion, but why did the CEO not call about it? Getting up and heading outside to the landing strip, the Boeing aircraft taxied the runway and came to a slow halt. Kato and an assistant drove the truck out to the runway, as the door downcasted and revealed stairs. And just then, a woman in a black outfit brandishing a long katana stood there, smiling.

"So," she said, "this is the United States," speaking in fluent English. "Haihane, Benitsubasa, we have arrived."

As she started her way down the stairs, two others revealed themselves, one wrapped in bandages with long, sharp blades, and the other, slim and wearing an outfit crossing between a kimono and a yukata. Short and showing her lean legs, one could tell she could probably kick, hard.

"Don't be so fast, you three," another voice said, revealing a woman in a business suit, black and complete with tie. "We have to check in." The woman met the three at the bottom just as the truck pulled up with Kato hopping out.

"I wasn't informed of your arrival," he said as he bowed, "you're from MBI headquarters?"

"Yes we are," she said, "I'm Natsuo Ichinomiya, ashikabi for the Disciplinary Squad."

Kato was shocked to hear the team of three who were enforcers in the stages of the Sekirei Plan were here in the States. "The CEO forgot to inform you, it was a last minute decision made by him. May I introduce No. 4 Karasuba," gesturing to the one with the katana, "No. 104 Haihane," the wrapped one with the long blades, "and No. 105 Benitsubasa," the slim one. "We've come to see No.109. Where is Omaha?"

He talked as they walked. "She's currently in New Orleans, Louisiana, about a two hour drive southwest of here. She's recently emerged, and is now living with her ashikabi, Daryl Wilton, a young man of Creole descent." Reaching the office, he had already called for transportation, as a black Suburban with tinted windows awaited.

"Why has Mr. Minaka sent you here?"

Karasuba smirked. "He desires to test No.109's strength and resolve, to see if she's fit to live as a Sekirei, apart from us in Shintou. Though she is not participating, he wishes to know her balance."

"How long will you be here?"

"A week," Natsuo replied, "by that time, we need to return to Japan, in preparation for Kouten." The four climbed into the Suburban and rolled down the window.

"Your accommodations are all set," he said, "good luck."

With that, the truck took off, on its long journey to the heart of the Bayou State, New Orleans.

* * *

In New Orleans, just east of the French Quarter, laid Daryl's house. Beautiful in its appearance, it's been given new life by the young Cajun. Formerly a two bedroom shotgun house, where a straight shot from the front to the back was easy, it has been transformed into a two story, four bedroom double width house, utilizing vacant land on its east side for the addition. Daryl bought the adjacent property to expand, and possibly start a garden, for ease of use, and to beautify the section of town he lived in.

The back yard was just as big with the addition, with plenty of room to frolic and have fun. With a six foot tall fence surrounding the entire vast of land, privacy was guaranteed. Exactly what he had in mind for he and his Sekirei, No. 109, Omaha.

In the two months since her winging, Omaha has become pretty protective of her master. In her eyes, she sees much more with him, yet her heart was unsure. Having been alone for the majority of his life since losing his family, she sees a delightful face and senses a calm demeanor beneath all that is her chosen one. Observing him for that amount of time, she admires his ability to adapt to different situations. He is very respectful to her, and she the same with him. And as she told him before, she loves him, and wants to be with him forever. Now, the love she spoke of, began to manifest in her heart.

Daryl was finally able to buy a car for them to get around in, though they didn't need anything too big. So he set on a brand new 2013 Chevrolet Cruze, custom optioned with a turbo four and a six speed manual. Not a car guy, he like the feel of manual shifted cars. Can't help it, it's just his way. And no monthly payments either; cash only, giving hint to his stealth of wealth.

As the days went by, the bond of the young Creole and his Sekirei became stronger, as she mostly slept in his room instead of hers, which he fixed up for her. Learning about each other, strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, favorites and abhorred, are taking time. For each other, it seems each is the one the other has been waiting for. Daryl and Omaha complimented each other to near perfection. And on this Thursday evening, he saw it in action. Standing at the patio door that lead to the large backyard surrounded by cedar fencing, he stood watching his Sekirei going through fighting moves. From one move to the next with fluidity, Omaha's concentration was not to be broken. To stand near six feet tall and weigh two hundred one pounds, she has speed that not even the fastest sprinter can't compare to. Rotating punches and kicks in blinding speed, Daryl couldn't help but smirk. Having the size of a heavyweight bodybuilder, she can move very swiftly despite the added bulk. 32" quads bulged with power with every thrust kick, while her arms with 20" upper arms backed the power to punch in midair, as the gusts were visible with every form.

Sweat poured off of her forehead as she moved like a ballet dancer, unaware of her single person audience. For fifteen minutes, she moved with born and bred fluidity, until finally she stopped with a hard kick to the ground, digging a borough with her heel in the lush grass. She suddenly heard a slow handclap come from behind her, as Daryl stepped to her cautiously, with a large towel on his shoulder.

"Absolutely amazing," he commented in his medium Creole accent, "I've never seen fighting moves and dancing so mixed together! You's truly one of a kind _'shá_."

Omaha gladly took the towel and wiped her beautiful caramel skinned face with it.

"Thank you, master," she replied in her alto Asian accent, "I trained whenever I got the chance, before I came here and after the hurricane. Many of these moves were programmed into my adjustments while at MBI."

"MBI?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes, we were found nearly thirty years ago by a scientist and kept away from the world. That's as much as I know right now."

Daryl looked at her and blushed. Her tank top and shorts were soaked with sweat, yet revealed more of her muscular frame. Abdominals that protruded with pride, surrounded by strong laterals and obliques that topped off a killer midsection. Her D cup breasts stood out from her sculpted pectorals, with the nipples showing through the drenched fabric. Daryl turned away quick enough to see her blush, realizing what state of dress she was in at the moment.

"Uh," he stammered, "I...think you better go take a shower, _mõn a mei,_ " he giggled as he backed away from the door to let her pass. He didn't want to risk ogling her longer than necessary.

"Uh, okay," as she walked through the door and through the house to the staircase. Daryl just stood on the patio, thinking about what he just caught sight of. A smirk speared on his face, as his favorite phrase came to mind.

" _Laissez les bons temps rouler,"_ shaking his head and heading inside.

* * *

At a large house in Baton Rouge, a black Suburban pulls up the oval driveway to the front door. The back doors opening, Haihane, Benitsubasa and Karasuba climb down out of the luxury laden truck, as Natsuo gets out of the front passenger side. Just then, an attendant walks out and greets the crew of four.

"Welcome to the great state of Louisiana," he said in a fluent French-accented English, "Ms. Ichinomaya, I presume?"

The lady in the business suit smiled. "Yes," she said, "and you already know the Disciplinary Squad."

He turned his head toward the three females. "Yes I do, welcome to you all to the MBI House."

The house was two stories in height, and gave the look of a plantation house from the late 1800s.

"What's with the old house?" asked Benitsubasa flippantly, "I was expecting something more...modern."

"Sorry to disappoint," the attendant said with a smile, "this plantation dates back to the time of the American Civil War. Mr. Minaka saw it and bought it after it was restored. He wanted to use it as a getaway house, but set it up as a refuge and help center instead."

"I bet this place has a lot of history," commented Natsuo, taking a walk around the wraparound front porch. Another attendant was carrying in the bags from the Suburban. "Our stay will be only of a few days," she continued, "do you have No. 109's location?"

"Yes," he said, "she is a few hour's drive south, in New Orleans."

"Good," said Natsuo, as she returned, "I hope she's ready for her test."

"Because," said Karasuba, "if not, she will be terminated," stroking the scabbard that housed her kitana.

"Come," the attendant gestured, "you all must be hungry," as he guided them into the house.

* * *

The house was filled with the aroma of Creole cuisine, as Daryl whipped up one of his specialties, seafood gumbo with a side of beignets. The recipe he got from his family friend at the restaurant in the French Quarter. Shrimp, diced cod, and crawfish permeated the delectable dish as it simmered in the cast iron Dutch oven he was lucky to find at a yard sale in one of the nearby parishes. Humming a tune he was raised on expressing his Creole roots, he rolled out the dough for the beignets, cut them out and put them on a sheet to let them rise for an hour.

By this time, Omaha had finished a refreshing shower. Her hair let down, it was now wrapped in a towel, as an oversized towel covered her muscular torso, with only her massive arms and upper body shown. Even in this state, she was a sight to behold. Her full Asian features shone through her caramel complexion, indicating that she was no ordinary woman.

Heading to her room for a change of clothes, the smell of gumbo wafted through the house, and hit Omaha's nose like perfume. She closed her eyes, and inhaled the delicious scent. Then, she quickly moved into her room and hurriedly dressed, throwing on her new outfit that Daryl bought for her last week. He took the time to buy his Sekirei an entirely new wardrobe to wear, instead of the regular battle outfit she was given and wore all the time. His goal was to make her feel special, not just another useful robot. She meant more than that to him.

Heading down the stairs and to the dining area, she was met with the face of her ashikabi. Standing in the doorway, he smiled.

"Why in such a hurry _'sha?"_ he asked in his deeply rooted Cajun accent. Omaha blushed.

"I, uh," she stammered, "smelled dinner-"

"Com' on," as he turned around and walked to the table. There sat the Dutch oven, on a heating pad, with the seafood gumbo, hot and ready to eat. On the side, was a steamer of rice, white and fluffy. Omaha closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma. Then she heard a chair being pulled out.

"Won't do you no good if you don't eat it," said Daryl, who pulled the chair out for her to sit. The Asian smiled as she took a seat, and he made his way to the other side.

"Ladies first," he said, offering her to take the first serving. Omaha smiled and blushed heavily as she spooned some rice into her bowl, then some of the homemade gumbo. Blowing on it, she dipped her spoon into it and took a careful bite. The flavors from the aroma hit her tastebuds, as the cod, shrimp and crawfish melded together into a taste that was otherworldly. As he was serving up his portion, she got up and came around his side of the table, embracing him from behind.

"Oh master!" she said in excitement, "this is absolutely delicious! I love it!" nuzzling her face against his cheek. Daryl couldn't help but blush.

"Glad you like it," he replied, "I might have to make it more often."

She made her way back to her chair, to continue eating, as she carefully ate every bite of the gumbo, savoring each morsel. Despite being as small as he is, his appetite was only so much, as Omaha had two nice sized portions, leaving a good bit for leftovers.

A half hour later, the young Cajun and his Sekirei were sitting on the couch, she snuggled up close to him.

"You are a very good cook," Omaha said, cozying close to her master.

"I learned a lot from some of my family," he said, not realizing he was getting a bit hot and bothered, "it's a traditional Louisiana dish that can be made in different ways."

"While I was in Japan, all I learned was to make curry," she pouted.

"Hey, maybe next time, you could fix some curry, and I'll make some jambalaya to go with it. Deal?"

"Deal!" she eagerly said, as she turned towards him and hugged him around his neck. Just then, as she gazed into his baby blue eyes, she saw what she's been truly seeking, something that now had eluded both of them. As she peered onto his soul, she saw herself and him, closer that just master and Sekirei. Daryl, doing the same thing, had the exact premonition, as both moved their faces closer to the other's. Their lips met in a gentle touch, then locked in a bevy of passionate emotions both have been harboring in their hearts for some time. Daryl wrapped his arms around Omaha's svelte waist, as she motioned herself to lay him down on the couch, her on top, the passion growing thick in the room.

By this time, Omaha felt something poking her groin area. She broke the kiss,and gazed down, to see a nice sized bulge coming from her master's pants. Looking up at his face, he was flushed with embarassment, yet a hint of lust. She smiled.

With no words spoken, she stood up, bent down and picked up Daryl, and made her way up the staircase, and to their bedroom.

At the safehouse in Baton Rouge, one Sekirei suddenly had the urge to sneeze.


End file.
